


A First Time For Everything

by AldreaAlien



Series: Daylen Amell [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AldreaAlien/pseuds/AldreaAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daylen escapes the horrors of what he did in the Circle for a little while with Zevran's help...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A First Time For Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to come out and say I've not written anything sexual involving two guys before this, so really the title is sort of pertaining to me as much as it is to Daylen. If anything seems … off somehow, I apologise, but my Grey Warden would _not_ stop bugging me with this.

The light of the campfire illuminated their small clearing. His companions sat nearby, their quiet chatter loud in the night. Daylen's gaze dropped to the bowl of what Alistair laughably called stew and gave it a half-hearted stir. He lifted a spoonful only to find his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating and not because his fellow Grey Warden had done the cooking.

Setting his dinner aside, he ambled through the camp and soon found himself on the edge of the clearing. There, he realised he had again been absently toying with the ring Morrigan gave him some months ago and let his hands drop to his sides. He probably should've given it back, but she never asked and he had, for want of a better word, grown attached to the simple metal band.

Leaning at against one of the trees, he stared out into the rapidly diminishing twilight. Over the treetops, the Circle tower loomed. Quite an accusing silhouette given what had transpired within. In all his life he'd never thought he would ever witness an Annulment, but to be a participant and on the templar's side…

 _It had to be done_. No matter how many times he thought it, he couldn't convince himself it had been the _right_ choice. The children in the lower levels hadn't seemed contaminated by the whole ordeal, but neither had the possessed boy in Redcliffe at first. Was it worth further risking an already wartorn land because of his soft heart?

He could've tried reasoning with them. Jowan was a blood mage and he seemed pretty sane. But the demons? The abominations? After seeing what that _thing_ in Uldred's form had done to powerful mages, he knew how wrong it would be to let such creatures loose on the world.

 _Hypocrite_. Had he not already risked all of Thedas with letting that abomination in the Warden-Commander's corpse go? _I'll have to track her down_. And he would do once the Blight was dealt with if he was in any position to do so when all this was over. If not, well … maybe someone else would have the presence of mind to do what he should've done.

The almost nonexistent tread of a nearing presence drew him back from his thoughts. Someone from the camp had joined him. "There's no need to check up on me." He wasn't about to do anything crazy. He couldn't afford to. Ferelden depended on their success.

Soft, throaty laughter revealed his intruder to be Zevran. The man leant against a nearby tree and clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Look at you. Your weary stance, the dark circles under your eyes. Poor man, all this constant walking has gotten to you. Do you know what you need?"

 _A stiff drink and a night at the Pearl_. If they were closer to Denerium, he would've risked such frivolities. Out here, he'd only Leliana's comfort and he was in no mood to be reassured. "A good night's rest, maybe." He hadn't been able to sleep properly since drinking from that blighted cup.

"Mmm, I'm thinking more drastic measures are called for, in fact. My thought is this: We retire to your tent and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns from growing up in an Antivan whorehouse."

He faced the man, their past conversations flitting through his mind. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" He really doubted things wouldn't wind up slipping into the decadent whilst being half-naked and in close quarters with the elf.

Zevran's shoulders bounced as he gave a low chuckle. There was a decidedly predatory edge to way those honey-coloured eyes ran over him, their soft gleam only aiding the comparison. "If you mean to ask whether or not there might be more than a massage involved, allow me to simply say that you won't be disappointed with any of the techniques I've picked up over the years."

"Zevran, I…" He glanced back at the fireside where Leliana was clearly engaged in conversation with Shale and Alistair. "…don't know about this…" His words were cut off upon realising the man now stood right in front of him. _Maker, how does he move so quietly_?

The elf shrugged. "What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? You deserve a little fun, do you not? If you're not of a mind, however, it is no tragedy."

"N-no," he stammered. "I—" He swallowed and, in a rush, said, "I’m definitely of a mind." Anything to take his thoughts off what he'd done in the Circle.

Zevran smirked. "Then why are we still talking?" He stretched up, his fingers weaving into Daylen's hair, and dragged him close enough to kiss.

 _Whatever happened to 'nothing crazy'_? a small part of his mind wondered as the elf's tongue slipped into his mouth. But this was only a kiss. And hardly unfamiliar considering they'd already done so on that pirate woman's ship. Accidently on his part, granted, but still … he couldn't deny that the man was damned good at it.

A hand slunk down his chest, making straight for his groin. The palm massaged along his length through the soft material of his robes and, much to his surprise, his body eagerly responded. Daylen bit back the groan that threatened to take flight. Okay, so _that_ probably wouldn't feel any different, but other things…

He pushed the assassin back. "Zevran." He paused, wondering just how to phrase what he needed to say. "I've never done this before." Warmth bathed his face. Maker, he hadn't blushed at the topic of sex since he was seventeen. "With a man, I mean."

The puzzled expression that creased the elf's face melted into comprehension. "I assure you, it's not as different as you may think."

 _Oh, I can think of one big difference_. He knew the mechanics, had walked in on several such scenes back in the Circle. _Like with Karl and … what's-his-name_. But actually going so far as to _do_ it?

Nimble fingers wrapped around his belt, tugging him away from the tree trunk. "Come, my Grey Warden, this is best done elsewhere." One blond brow twitched up. "Unless you've a certain desire to be caught with your pants around your ankles…"

"I don't wear pants," Daylen mumbled as he let the elf lead to him to his tent. It seemed kind of redundant under robes.

"No?" Zevran chuckled. "Even better."

His stomach churned as he ducked under the tent flap. Could he trust the assassin? He blinked, frozen in the entrance. _Is that really all I'm worried about_? He was seriously considering having sex with another man and all he wondered was whether he trusted Zevran? He'd not given much thought towards doing such an act before he met the man. Yet, he was intrigued by the very notion. _Why_? Perhaps _because_ he hadn't really thought about it.

Zevran was already kneeling inside and gave another rich chuckle as Daylen settled on his bedding. "You need not be so tense, my Grey Warden."

Tense? He was _beyond_ tense. Already, his heart thumped its hardest. He could feel each pulse thudding through his brain like a war drum. "I…" Now he was actually in the tent with the elf, the thought of letting anything happen was both nerve-wracking and intoxicating. "I thought a massage was on offer."

"Mmm? Oh, it still is. It has simply become more localised." He grasped the hem of Daylen's robe, held fast by a belt and nothing else, and inched it ever higher. "Ah, you did not lie about the lack of pants." Warm fingers curled around the waist band of Daylen's smallclothes.

Unbidden, he assisted Zevran, lifting off the bedding as the elf tugged at his clothes. He was released in one rough pull and the night air welcomed him into its cold grip.

"You never fail to surprise me. You know this, yes?" Hot breath bathed Daylen's skin. "You act so unsure, yet you've already risen to the occasion." His fingers encircled Daylen's length, slowly stroking him from base to tip. Zevran's head dipped out of sight. The elf's lips brushed across his hardness as those nimble hands slathered him with their attention.

Daylen dug his fingers into the bedding. Okay, by the noises the pirate woman made, he'd gathered the assassin had some skill, but—

A soft groan vibrated through the tent. It took Daylen a second to realise _he_ had been the source of the sound. _Maker_ … He lay there, frozen by conflicting emotions. How could he be shocked that he'd even let it go this far and also not care that it had within the same instant?

With his breath quickening at the exquisite torture the assassin delighted him with, Daylen found himself unable to remain still. He sat up, resting his weight on his elbows, and struggled to focus on the scene unfolding at his waist. The bobbing of the elf's head, the tip of the man's tongue snaking from those sensual lips, the velvet roughness as he licked along Daylen's length.

Heat, glorious moist heat, enveloped him. He groaned through clenched teeth, watching as Zevran, unperturbed, continued to swallow as much of him as he could. Inch by inch he went, his limber fingers stroking what little remained.

Then, with his lips tightening around Daylen's girth, the elf began to suck.

Daylen grabbed another fistful of blanket. His head tipped back. He bit his lip, trying to muffle the sounds constricting his throat. His hips bucked with each stroke, thrusting himself against the elf's face.

Giving a soft grunt, and with his head barely halting its rhythmic movement, Zevran pinned him to the ground.

His gut tightened. He was near the edge. Could see it rushing ever closer. "Z-zev…" he managed.

The pressure of the man's tongue along the underside of his length increased. He felt himself slipping deeper into the elf's mouth. The heat coiling in his gut unravelled and a coarse yell threaded through his throat. _Too loud_! He flopped back onto his bedding, struggling to muffle the sound with his hands.

Daylen laid there, his heart racing, his chest heaving, his body so gloriously satisfied. _Maker's breath_. He stared up at the tent, watching the light of the campfire flicker over the canvas as his personal world slowly returned to normal.

Eventually, when he'd regained enough of his breath to speak, he asked, "You don't think—?" The words rasped out. He swallowed and tried again. "They … wouldn't have heard that, right?"

"Hmm … I suppose it _is_ altogether possible that they have all grown deaf within the last half hour."

He propped himself up on shaking arms to glare at the man reclining between his legs. "Are you mocking me?" How could the elf be so damn smug when he'd just had another man empty himself down his throat only moments before? _Maker, it's my sixteenth nameday all over again_.

"Mocking?" Zevran scoffed as he sat up. "Not I, ser, I assure you. No mocking here, no."

"Zeeev…" he warned.

"Mmm." He peered at Daylen through lowered eyelashes. "I do so like the way that sounds on your lips." Zevran settled between his thighs, the edges of the elf's leather tunic chill against his bare skin. "Perhaps I can get you to scream it louder, yes?"

Daylen scuttled backwards, stopping only when his shoulders hit the opposite end of the tent.

One blond brow cocked. "You move faster than I anticipated." He tipped his head to one side. Even in this low light, his eyes gleamed. "Let me guess, this is the part where you tell me you've had your fun, but I must go and create my own, yes?"

 _He's giving me a way out_? An easy one, too, considering he could agree with Zevran's assessment and the elf would leave. That was … unexpected. "That would be rude of me, would it not?"

Zevran shrugged. "Perhaps, but hardly surprising. If you do not wish to continue—"

"No." Daylen grasped the man's arm as he made to leave. "I mean…" What _did_ he mean? "S-stay." He should at the very least return the favour. His stomach rolled at the thought. _Perhaps not in the same way_. But there were things he could do that even an Antivan whorehouse couldn't teach.

"If that is your desire, allow me to get undressed."

 _Right_. It would be more comfortable without his clothing and he'd already been stripped below the waist, so he might as well remove the rest. Daylen unbuckled his belt, dispensed with his robe and tossed it to one side.

" _Braska_."

He glanced up from hauling off his boots and found Zevran battling with the buckle of his harness. A grin tweak his lips, the ridiculousness of it all distilling the fuzzy, bubbling sensation in his gut. "Stuck?"

"No, I—" The elf struggled a little longer, then sighed his admission of defeat. "I'm not usually beaten so easily."

"Let me." Daylen dumped his remaining boot with the other and shuffled closer to effortlessly work the stiff leather through, freeing the man from his captor.

The armour slid over Zevran's shoulders, followed swiftly by the padding and shirt, to reveal a canvas of tattooed skin. Scars criss-crossed the intricate designs, some of which were marred beyond rescue. He was well muscled, much to Daylen's surprise. Not the raw bulk of the Qunari certainly, nor even the beefiness of Alistair, but a definition that spoke both of suppleness and strength.

The elf turned in the small space provided by the tent, his back rippling like bronze silk, and smirked. "When you have finished admiring…"

His gaze jerked up. He hadn't been admir— _Oh, yes I was_. And without a stitch of clothing to either of them, the effect of such appreciation was all too apparent. Both on himself and the elf. "Sorry, it's just I…" He absently traced one of the many designs down the inked back to the sound of Zevran's soft, appreciative groan. "I've never met anyone so heavily tattooed."

Zevran leant back, his lips twisting lewdly as he tracked Daylen's descending fingers. "If you like, I could give you one. A griffon, perhaps?"

He smiled, recalling a similar conversation the assassin had once had with Alistair. "That would be fitting." He _was_ a Grey Warden, after all. _Complete with tainted blood and a shortened lifespan_. Given those circumstances, there was no shame in embracing what life he'd left to its fullest. "But another time."

"Oh-ho! A willing victim it is. And I _will_ hold you to that, my Grey Warden."

"That's providing ink is all you're planning to pierce my skin with." He might have only spent a short time outside the Circle, but he'd studied poisons long enough to know just what a skilled assassin would be capable of.

Zevran gasped, rolling onto his back with his hands clutching at an imaginary injury in his chest. "You wound me. Come, it has been some months since you … recruited me. If killing you was still my goal, I could've done so a dozen times before then. A hundred if we are to speak of poisons."

"Oh?"

"Like right now." He sat up and nipped Daylen's bottom lip. "There are many poisons I could ingest to which I am immune." His hand slid down to caress Daylen's semi-erect length. "Of those, there are several I could've coated my tongue in that would have even a powerful mage such as yourself writhing in agony within the hour."

He pulled away. "And … you have this stuff on your person?"

"Mmm … not at this moment, no." Zevran chuckled, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Such suspicion. Did I not swear to you that I am your man?"

" _Mine_ , huh?" In the same way the elves of old had been to their magic-wielding masters? He was already uncomfortable with the idea of the man owing him a blood debt.

Unabashed amusement danced in the elf's gleaming eyes. "Without reservation." The way he purred those two words gave them a dozen different meanings, all of them stoking the hot yearning growing in his gut.

"You don't say?" His hand slid around Zevran's waist and down. Warm, eager flesh greeted his fingers. _Simple enough_. He'd done this a thousand times since puberty, not to someone else, granted, but the principles weren't any different. And there was one little trick he hadn't dared risk doing in case he lost control and burnt himself…

Zevran's breath hitched and, shuddering, he arched against Daylen's chest. A rich moan escaped the elf's throat as he tipped his head back. With the pointed ear so close, Daylen couldn't resist sliding his tongue along the bottom slope. The action was rewarded with a gasp and a second shudder.

Daylen flexed his fingers, giving the lightning darting between them a little more room to buzz. He'd been on the receiving end often enough to know the best method and readily used such knowledge now. He watched, enrapt in Zevran's every breath and movement as his magic-assisted strokes drove the elf ever closer to the edge.

The man's moans grew louder. His hips thrust against Daylen's hand, deepening each stroke. Taking the hint, he increased the pace to the sound of Zevran's appreciative whimper.

A deep intake of breath was all the warning he had. Zevran leant against him, a hoarse yell vibrating through his throat. Daylen clamped his free hand over the elf's mouth as liquid, warm and thick, ran down the fingers of his other hand. He kept going, working the elf dry.

Only once Zevran had grown quiet did he remove his hand from the man's face.

One last lingering groan escaped the elf's lips. "Dare I even ask how you did that?" he asked between gasps, his head rocking on Daylen's shoulder.

Daylen gave a breathy chuckle. "A mage never reveals his secrets," he whispered.

"Oh? Some sort of spell designed to enhance your lover's pleasure? Perhaps a little forbidden magic, yes?"

He nipped the tip of Zevran's ear. "Hardly. I'm Circle trained, you know."

"Tsk. Perhaps our dear Morrigan would know a better spell?"

"Oh, no you don't." Wrapping his arms around the elf's torso, he bore both of them to the ground. With the man now pinned beneath him, he declared, "You're not going anywhere near that witch." Maker, the woman barely stood Zevran's constant flirting, she'd rip the poor elf apart if he actually tried anything.

Zevran gave the slightest of smirks and Daylen found himself flat on his back with the elf straddling his hips. "You may have gained some strength since leaving your Circle of the Magi, my Grey Warden, but you still aren't strong enough to hold me down."

Daylen chuckled, his face heating. "Pitiful, isn't it." Of all his companions, only Morrigan was physically weaker, and not by much.

"Oh, I don't know. There _is_ a certain … charm in being the weaker partner." His fingers ran down Daylen's chest. "Being entirely at your lover's mercy."

He sat up, tipping the elf onto his lap. "I'm not _that_ feeble."

Zevran opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was going to say stalled as he became visibly distracted. He ground his hips, clearly aware as to the nature of what he was sitting on.

Daylen bit the inside of his bottom lip, using the pain to keep himself from making a sound. That wasn't an easy a feat as he'd hoped. It felt good. And familiar. "Ignore it," he mumbled, the words slipping out before he realised what he'd said.

The elf's chuckle shook the both of them. "I've a much better idea." Zevran's hand closed around him. "Rather than waste such a gift, let us use it, yes?" With teasing fingers, he slowly guided Daylen's length to his desired destination.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, aching with the need to inhale every breath of air in Thedas all at once. _You've gone this far_. He might as well continue. His hands slid up Zevran's thighs to clench the elf's backside. Daylen eased himself deeper, softly and slowly despite a desperate part of him wanting to slam himself to the hilt in one blow. He closed his eyes as, inch by torturous inch, he was devoured.

When he almost couldn't go any further, Zevran chuckled. "Am I some delicate maiden now?" he breathed into Daylen's ear. "I will not break so very easily."

He opened his eyes to find that honey-coloured gaze focused on his face, gauging his reaction. His lips twisted as a dozen wicked thoughts flit through his mind and his final thrust wasn't so gentle.

A soft grunt escaped the man's throat and his eyelids fluttered briefly, but no protests followed.

He grasped Zevran's waist, holding the elf still as he pulled out and drove in again. Over and over, he slammed them together with short, hard strokes, the tent filling with their rough breaths. It didn't take long for Zevran to match his pace, pushing down as he thrust up. Still, it wasn't enough. He needed … something. Not this. Something else. But what?

 _More_.

Without warning, he flipped them. Zevran grunted as his back hit the ground, but Daylen found the purchase he wanted to get exactly what he needed.

With the elf sprawled beneath him, groaning as he kept the pace slow and deep, he sat back, one hand trailing down the smooth chest. He reached Zevran's erection and squeezed his fingers around it, eliciting a whimper from its owner. With his grip firm, he massaged the elf's length, chuckling at the rich moan such movement eked from the man.

After a little while, Zevran propped himself on his elbows. "What?" he gasped. "No magic?"

"Not this time."

"Ah. You are so very cruel."

"I don't want to hurt you." Unlike some people he'd known, he derived no pleasure from harming his bed partners. It didn't matter that magic could fix things later.

"But what's a little pain?" Zevran grinned. "Could be fun … if you do it right."

Daylen shook his head. "You'd mind if I misjudged and burnt you instead."

"Hmm, do I detect a note of personal experience there?" The elf laughed as Daylen shrugged. "But you are a healer, yes?" He settled back, smirking. "I imagine such a touch would be quite … pleasurable."

Daylen leant forward until their noses touched. "Has anyone told you that you're a rather depraved man?"

His smirk widened. "A great many times." Their lips brushed against each other's as he spoke and Daylen froze, recalling just where that mouth had last been. And, yes, he could taste himself on the elf's lips.

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and reminded himself this wasn't the first time such a taste had touched his tongue. "So long as you know." He nuzzled the elf's neck, his teeth grazing across the throat and heavy pulse found there until he sunk them into the curve where neck met shoulder.

He was rewarded with a soft, drawn-out moan. Low and guttural, the sound buzzed through to his core.

The first sparks of magic flickered between his fingers and the flesh in his grip twitched. Tendrils of lightning buzzed across his lower torso, raising the hairs along his stomach and making his skin tingle. His own groan was halted as Zevran's tongue slipped into his mouth. With their tongues entwined, his quickening breath puffed desperately through his nose.

He pushed on, quickly forsaking the lightning in favour of more mundane methods as their skin grew slick with sweat.  Zevran abandoned grinding his rear against Daylen and instead thrust into the hand that worked him. He sat up, matching the pace the elf had set, driving himself deep with every jerk.

Zevran stiffened, his whole body arching at one glorious shout. Once again, the elf emptied into Daylen's hand. He kept going, massaging every last drop from the man as his hips never lost momentum. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and let himself become lost to the slick sound of their movements and the frenzied, and loud, puff of the elf's breath.

The world shrunk to the small, pulsating knot in his gut. He was close to the edge, felt it hovering just beyond his reach. _Faster_. He grasped the heavily tattooed waist, lifting the elf into a more agreeable position. Zevran's head tipped back, his eyes closing. _Harder_. He pounded into the man, using the elf's moans as his guide.

The world exploded.

He re-entered reality, screaming all the way. His grip tightened upon the warm flesh already in his grasp, holding Zevran fast as each jerking movement had him spilling into the man. His vision focused, settling on that dazed, honey-coloured gaze.

Daylen rolled off the elf, gasping and thoroughly spent. _Well …_ that … _happened_. Even as he'd encouraged Zevran, there'd been the idle thought that some piece of him would stop things from going this far. How wrong he was there. And, to his surprise, it'd felt no less right than it had with his previous partners.

Beside him, Zevran stirred. He let out a low whistle. "Seeing as you have not yet attempted to scurry off muttering how wrong this was, shall I assume tonight has met with your approval?"

"So far."

The elf laughed. "Again, I underestimate you, my Grey Warden. I was led to believe you Fereldens are, how you say, most reluctant to even admit they indulge in the act of love-making. Yet I find you are not only willing to try bedding another man, but also most proficient at it."

Daylen grunted, torn between patriotic pride and personal affront. He very much doubted he'd been anywhere near as talented as the assassin claimed. "Flattery, Zev?"

"It is flattery only if I exaggerate the truth to please you. I am merely stating a simple fact. From what I have heard, you managed to coax both of our current female companions into your bed. And you were hardly shy when it came to making your desires known to dear Isabela. Clearly you've some skill in getting what you wish…"

He frowned at the tent roof. "Is there a point to this?"

"I am simply curious as to how a mage, one who grew up under the scrutiny of templars no less, would get such knowledge."

"The Circle isn't a Chantry."

"No? In Antiva, the templars watch the Circle much like a jealous husband guarding the chastity of a wanton bride."

"They do—" He sat up. "They _did_ that here." Not anymore. Not until new mages came. And there would always be new mages. "It had to be done," Daylen mumbled to himself, his thoughts scooting back to the mess he'd left for the templars to finish mopping up.

Zevran rolled onto one side, soft comprehension moulding his face. "I apologise. The memories are … too fresh for you. I understand. We shall speak of it no more."

 _Do you really_? He wasn't entirely sure just how much of his guilt the elf could identify with. What regrets could an assassin, a man used to cold-blooded murder, possibly have? "I—" He rubbed at the back of his neck, his face heating like some Chantry sister's. "I'm willing to go another round … if you're up to it."

"Are you now?" The elf propped himself on an arm, his expression completely serious for once. "Do not think we must do everything tonight. There will be other times."

Daylen wasn't wholly certain about that. He might've lost his nerve—or regained his senses—before this happened again. Besides, mentioning the Circle had brought back the very memories he wanted to bury and the elf had already proven to be an adequate distraction from them. "I'm sure."

Zevran crept along the bedding, each movement lithe and graceful. _And deadly_. Much like a cat stalking its prey. He hovered over Daylen, the wiry bronze arms on either side of his body pinning him there without touching him. The sight had his heart pounding all the harder. "I won't lie, my Grey Warden, it will be uncomfortable."

He grinned manically, recalling the elf's earlier words. "Could be fun if you do it right."

Those honey-coloured eyes widened to their fullest before Zevran chuckled. "You truly are full of surprises." He smirked. "Hmm, it is tempting, but if I break you now, then ending the Blight falls to Alistair."

Daylen gasped in mock horror. "We can't let _that_ happen."

"Indeed not."

"Then I guess you should save breaking me until _after_ I've slain the Archdemon." He laughed, more at the absurd idea of actually surviving attacking the darkspawn horde than anything else. Knowing his luck, he'd be struck down before they even neared the tainted beast.

Barely registering he followed the elf's subtle, unspoken directions, Daylen rolled onto his stomach. The grass beneath his blankets rustled as Zevran shifted behind him. Slender fingers grabbed his ankles, moving him into place. Every muscle in Daylen's body tightened as uncertainty took hold along with the man's hands upon his hips.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…

Zevran's hands, the palms cool and slightly damp, ran over his back, massaging the muscles either side of his spine before gliding downwards in a similar motion. They slid over his rear, seeming to be testing his limits. Daylen pushed back, encouraging the man further.

He gasped as the elf entered him, pain and pleasure weaving themselves into one glorious, tangled bundle. To his surprise, Zevran was being gentle, pausing with each breath, taking his time to work himself deeper.

Eventually, Zevran stopped and, as his body adjusted to the strange action, he realised the cessation was only because the elf couldn't go any further. _Maker_. He had a man buried to the hilt in him and it felt … well … exactly what it felt like was a bit of a muddle. Different, obviously, and a little uncomfortable, but not bad, not … wrong.

The warming touch of lips danced up his spine, lingering on each vertebra. "Shall I continue, my Grey Warden?"

Not quite trusting himself to speak, he grunted his affirmation.

Zevran drew back until he was all but free, pulling a deep groan from Daylen's throat. In one smooth movement, the elf drove in again and, despite himself, a squeak escaped Daylen's lips.

Their bodies shook with Zevran's rich laughter. "Let us try for a manlier sound, yes?"

He glared over his shoulder at the elf, but it only made Zevran laugh harder. "Huh, this from a man who screamed like a girl only moments ago." The cooling thread of healing tugged at his mana as he spoke, soothing him as much as the elf's hands travelling up and down his back.

"Is that … more magic?" Amusement slathered each word.

Heat flooded Daylen's face. _Shit_. He hadn't thought it would be noticed. "It hurts," he mumbled, hoping that was explanation enough. Pain wasn't usually a good sign and so his magic attempted to fix the problem. After so many attempts on his life, it'd become a conditional reflex.

"Did I not warn you it would be so? If it is too much…"

Even as he contemplated otherwise, he knew he'd be kicking himself in the morning if they didn't take this to its ultimate conclusion. "No, I'm fine. Continue."

Zevran's grasped his hips. "As you desire."

In and out, the elf drove himself, slow and deep at first, but gradually increasing the pace. A hand wriggled its way under him, grasping Daylen's very much erect length, the skill with which the elf handled him making his previous efforts seem pathetic.

Daylen buried his face into the bedding, his teeth clenched as he struggled to contain the sounds that likewise fought for release. Over his muffled moans, he caught Zevran's ragged gasps. And here he thought elves could go on forever. _Maybe it's just their women_. He snickered at the idle thought.

Their frenzied breaths, the slap of flesh, each grunt and groan … all of it filled the tent. Daylen kept his face in the blankets, biting the rough weave and panting through his nose. His head spun. Spots of light danced across his vision. He could see the edge glittering within reach. Just that little bit mor—

"Maker!" The word left his lips in a cry, repeated over and over amongst a stream of expletives and the elf's name. He thumped the ground and fisted the bedding, all control over himself vanishing as he rode out the orgasm.

Eventually, reality swung back around and he caught the edge of Zevran's chuckle. The man had stopped moving, clearly having reached his own height whilst Daylen was lost somewhere amidst his bliss. "Did I not say you wouldn't be disappointed?"

"Smartass," he mumbled into the blankets.

"It is part of my charm, or so I've been told."

Daylen rolled onto his side, the euphoric aftermath slow to leave his body. _I could get used to this_. He brushed the hair from his face. "You don't say?"

The elf was still laughing as he settled next to him on the blankets. "See? I knew this would happen eventually. I should've warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me." He held up his hand as if forestalling an argument Daylen wasn't about to start. "It was inevitable."

With his mind no longer addled by pleasure or remorse, his thoughts swiftly turned to Leliana. Fresh guilt flooded his veins. What had he done? _Cheated on her_. Just like he'd done to Morrigan. _What is wrong with me_? He was too used to the way things had been with the women in the Circle. They understood things couldn't be permanent. _But this isn't the Circle_. He was a Grey Warden now. He'd destroyed his past. It was time he starting thinking about his future before he destroyed that too. "We should probably talk."

The cocky smile fell from Zevran's face. "Ahhh, so it is time for that already, is it?" He sat up, his back stiff. "Very well, my brave and conquering hero." A soft chuckle, absent of mirth, left the elf's lips. "What is on your mind?"

Daylen stared at the man, trying to make sense of what he felt. Was this not meant to be just a bit of fun? Was that not what Zevran wanted to hear? "This doesn't change anything. You know that, right?"

More laughter, the sound a tad on the nervous side now. "Why should anything change?" He cleared his throat. "Allow me make it simple for you, my Grey Warden. What comes next is entirely up to you. I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found for they do not come very often. I will ask nothing more from you than you are willing to give."

That sounded eerily familiar. Old guilt bubbled to the surface, clashing with his newer feelings and making a sour mixture in his empty stomach. "So … easy come, easy go?"

"One might look at it that way. Is this so terrible?" Zevran sighed and began to dress. Outside, the surrounding gloom of night was giving way to the dawn. "At any rate, we should be on our way. A new day awaits us, or so the rumour goes."

 _So it goes_. His throat felt far too tight. He coughed, hoping to clear it, to no avail. "I'm sorry."

The elf paused in the tent entrance, his shoulders sagging. "You need not apologise, Daylen." He smiled, the corners of his mouth absent of their usual jovial lilt. "I understand. However, should you ever wish to repeat it…" He shrugged. "Well, you know where to find me, yes?"

He watched in silence as Zevran slipped out into the coming day, too cowardly to ask just what the assassin understood. _This was just a bit of fun_. Something to distract him from the monsters he'd found within himself as well as the Circle.

And yet, what he had felt…

 _No_. The elf was just another Morrigan, someone to have a quick tumble with and move on. He needed more than that. He needed a lover that was there for him. Not someone to tell him he was a good man when he knew he wasn't or someone who didn't care about anything beyond pleasure, but someone he could rely on for support and comfort, in whatever form that may take, and Zevran—

 _Understands_. The man had said that, he'd actually _said_ that. _Take your pleasures where they can be found_. That was Circle logic right there. Maybe the elf really did identify with him. Perhaps better than anyone Daylen had ever met.


End file.
